Kisses on the Brow
by Lauand
Summary: The obnoxious and arrogant apprentice of minstrel Lindir arrives in the valley and Imladris has to deal with him. GlorfindelErestor ElrohirLindir Slash.


Title: **Kisses on the Brow - **_Chapter 1: The Arrival._

Author: Lauand

Beta: Knellis

Summary: The obnoxious and arrogant apprentice of minstrel Lindir arrives in the valley and Imladris has to deal with him. 

Pairings: Elrohir/Lindir, Glorfindel/Erestor

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

N/A: Continuation to "Glorfindel's Haircut". There's a few references to that fic in here, so I strongly recommend you read it before you start with this.

Thank you again to Knellis, my wonderful beta, for all her hard work and good advice. And the red marks. I just love the red marks ;P.

**KISSES ON THE BROW**

_Ch1: The Arrival._

"Please tell Lord Elrond that I'll be there in a moment."

With a polite smile, he dismissed the servant and started to file all his papers back in their respective locations, all the while cursing his lord.

Not that Erestor didn't love Elrond. He did. As his lord and friend, that is. But that didn't help him to understand why the half-elf always waited until he had all these reports, missives and law volumes neatly spread out on his solid mahogany desk to summon him to his presence. While his office was next door his Lord's, more often than not he worked in the room adjoining the library where all the records, archives, old correspondence and reference books were kept. It was just logical. What wasn't logical was the fact that the library and his office were the two rooms farthest away from each other in all the household. So why the hell couldn't Elrond call him either first thing in the morning, before he had scattered all his material around and started working or when he had already finished?

Damn.

Once all the things had been returned to their safe places, he sighed and exited the library.

'_It had better be something important, Elrond…'_ he thought grumpily while walking briskly along the corridors.

He heard his voice before actually seeing him, and without Erestor's conscious command, his feet stopped dead in their tracks and his heart intensified its pounding while his ears strained to listen. What was Glorfindel doing here instead of training the rookies on the fields?

The question became irrelevant as he heard the other voices. Female voices. Paying attention, he could make out their conversation with the blond Seneschal. They were praising the warrior's new look and giggling in a silly manner as Glorfindel gallantly redirected their compliments back toward them. Damned rogue. Erestor could even imagine the seductive grin on the idiot's face. Why the whole House (himself included) found the Balrog-Slayer irresistible was beyond him.

Erestor silently sighed. What a morning… first, Elrond's inopportune summoning and now getting stuck in the middle of the corridor because his legs refused to walk on and interrupt Glorfindel's flirting with the house maidens.

'_Erestor,_' he tried to reason with himself, '_how old are you?_'

Once he had answered himself and concluded that he was indeed adult enough to confront this kind of situation maturely (that being said, also restraining himself from throttling those air-headed maidens), he put on his old, comfortable, aloof mask again and turned the corner.

Glorfindel was indeed dressed for training (leather pants, boots and a plain shirt) and had gathered his now short tresses into a stubby pony-tail that protruded rather ridiculously from the back of his head. Erestor supposed that the point was to prevent the golden locks from falling into his face during the sparring, but the tail failed miserably to accomplish its task and the rebellious, curly hair framed the warrior's smiling face in disarray.

When he came near, he couldn't help but notice that the maidens (two of them) were as close to the blond elf as decorum allowed them, all moo-eyes and batting eyelashes. They weren't even aware of his own presence.

'_Sheep,_' he thought disdainfully.

He knew that it wasn't rational at all to compare them to such a dumb animal, or to be angry with Glorfindel, who obviously hadn't gone looking for the attention he was receiving and was completely free to enjoy it, but he couldn't help feeling a brief pang of resentment toward the three of them, when, at the moment he reached the point where they were standing, one of the maidens tucked an errand lock (one of the many) behind the Seneschal's ear.

Fortunately, the dark haired advisor was an expert diplomat and none of the ugly emotions he was feeling inside showed in his face or body language. He could be as expressive as a dead fish if he so chose, and, well, the time had come to prove it.

"Good morning," greeted Erestor impassively, without slackening his speed.

"Good morning, Master Erestor." The maidens sobered instantly upon noticing him and hastily curtsied as they lowered their eyes.

"Good morning, Advisor," was Glorfindel's happy reply, as always oblivious to what paraded in Erestor's head and unable to understand why people feared his friend so.

The stern counsellor had barely turned the corner when he heard Glorfindel's casual calling.

"Ah, Erestor!"

He looked back to see a disembodied golden head pop around the corner. Then Glorfindel squeezed his eyes shut and stuck out his tongue as far as he could, to show the advisor that he still had fans and that they indeed liked his new hairstyle.

Trying to fight the silly grin that threatened to break his calm façade at the idiocy of his blond friend, Erestor mouthed a word to the floating head as the warrior opened his eyes and looked at him with a delicious smug smile on his lips.

"Hairclips!"

When understanding dawned on Glorfindel as to what Erestor meant - that he just had to wear the promised hairclips to see his admirers desert him - the blond head poked its tongue out again and disappeared from where it had come.

Erestor couldn't help but grin at the silliness of his best friend and with a hint of evil in his thoughts, he mentally rubbed it in the maidens' faces the fact that Glorfindel might have been flirting with them, but it was him for whom he had stopped paying them any attention and him to whom he had stuck out his tongue at. Twice.

Not very sure how such a gesture could be regarded as a higher honour, he shook his head at his own stupidity and climbing the stairs, he reflected on how his feelings were worsening.

True, he had always been physically attracted to Glorfindel, but that was easily ignored. The blond had a beautiful body and a fair face (not to mention that tight, muscled, delicious-looking ass). He was plainly Erestor's type and contrary to common belief, the advisor was not made of stone. But the physical attraction was all, wasn't it?

At least it was in the first years. Then, in a moment that he would never be able to pinpoint, he had started considering the other elf a friend. And a good one at that. People didn't always see beyond others' masks, but he had had the opportunity to know the real Glorfindel. Most of the elves in Imladris saw only what the Seneschal wanted them to see. Just as Erestor hid behind his aloofness and silence, Glorfindel hid behind his openness. He was such an extroverted elf that nobody suspected that he could show part of himself only to keep the most personal pieces secret. Not even to Erestor or Elrond did he give himself completely, but the Chief Advisor knew him well, exactly as well as Glorfindel knew him, and that was enough.

Or so Erestor had thought. But after an indeterminate period of time (because… when had this obsession really begun?), it seemed that he had become greedy. He could settle no more for the warrior's friendship. The banters, the jokes, the shared wine, the confessions and the similar sense of humour were not enough now. He wanted more. He craved for more.

Sometimes he found himself needing a smile or a touch, longing for warm breath and sweet whispers in his ear, for knowing hands and hungry lips, for the weight of a solid body upon his… and in a moment of distraction, when he was looking elsewhere, his heart had decided that the smile, the breath, the hands, the lips and the body had to be that of the blond oaf's.

'_Stop!_'

See? He was obsessed. He had to drown these damned feelings before they began to drown him. Not letting this turmoil of feelings crack his cool, perfect mask for a second, he kept his steady pace toward Elrond's office. He was very near now, so he tried to focus the last meters of his way on his dear Lord and his bad habit of interrupting Erestor's work.

If only to calm himself and expel the thought of blond idiots from his head, he stopped to knock at the door. Of course, the fact that the door belonged to one's Lord helped, too, to make him keep his manners, but it was a frequent occurrence that the serious Advisor entered the office without asking first. He and Elrond were that close.

"Enter," came the distracted reply.

Closing the door behind him, Erestor waited patiently for Elrond to finish writing. In the meanwhile he entertained himself by taking in his surroundings with a resigned sigh. Not that he didn't love Elrond's office, it was beautiful and decorated tastefully, but really, he had more important things on which to spend his time.

His eyes roamed around delicately carved furniture, elegant bookshelves with exactly the right amount of volumes each, tapestries with historical motives, featuring past battles and heroic deeds… Erestor's favourite was the one depicting the fall of Gondolin… the dark haired advisor suppressed the urge to shake his head. He was really hopeless; everything reminded him of Glorfindel.

The tapestries were not the only pieces of art in the room. There were paintings too: a peaceful landscape painted by the Lady Celebrian herself and a portrait of Elros, his shining eyes giving him a roguish air that Elrond himself lacked but that Elros's nephews, the twins Elladan and Elrohir, had definitely inherited.

Yes, Erestor liked this office with its large windows and glass showcases containing presents from Greenwood and Lothlórien, as well as more ancient mementos of now fallen cities and dead kings, all of them proudly, but not arrogantly, displayed.

When his look finally fell onto Elrond's large desk, the Lord of Imladris finished his writing and, sighing, laid the freshly prepared scroll aside to dry, then searching through the papers neatly spread on the table, took what he was looking for and placed the letter on the desk near his Chief Advisor.

"Please, sit down, Erestor, and take a look." he asked him. "And for all that's worthy, stop glaring at me that way. I'm sorry that I interrupted you again, but this is important and came rather unexpectedly."

One of the things Erestor loved about his Lord was the respect Elrond showed to all his employees. Even if others deemed it strange that Elrond apologized at all, being the Lord of the Land, Erestor had always found it extremely gratifying to work for someone like Eärendil's son, one who knew his own power but didn't act as if that made him any better than others.

"What is it?" murmured the councillor, taking the carefully folded letter and recognizing the broken seal at once. "It's from the Lady Galadriel."

Elrond sighed before replying. "Yes, you know that personal correspondence is delivered directly to my hands, and this," he said, pointing to the letter Erestor had in his hands, "arrived this morning… with a delegation from the Golden Wood."

"A what?" Erestor's eyes, wide and shocked, suddenly rose from the paper to fix on Elrond's. "Why wasn't I informed of their arrival? I need to…"

"You need to finish reading, my friend; there are more pressing matters than welcoming a delegation that is already here, anyway."

Inwardly railing and trying not to think of all the things that should have already been done, Erestor did as he was told and read the letter, setting it on the desk again when he was finished. Leaning back in the chair, a slight frown marred his brow while he talked to Elrond.

"I don't understand it. Galadriel is sending a difficult youth for us to straighten out? Why us? Why not his parents? Why send him away?"

Elrond adopted a careful tone in his answer. "His parents are an important Lord and Lady in Galadriel's Court, and they have agreed that Imladris could be a good influence on him."

Erestor raised an eyebrow at that. Maybe he was reading between the lines a bit too much, but he had the distinct impression that they just wanted to get rid of the boy. Judging by what the letter explained about the youth, it seemed as if they wished to distance themselves from their son, in order to keep his actions from tarnishing the family name any longer, or something similar. With that kind of parents, what child wouldn't become difficult?

"And," pressed the advisor slowly, tapping his lips with his index finger, mentally archiving all the information he was receiving, "what is written in the letter is true?"

"You mean, the rumours of him bedding half of the Lórien male population before being of age?"

Erestor silently nodded and Elrond continued. "I suppose they could be an exaggeration, but one can never be sure. More than that, what worries me is the fact that Galadriel had to send him to me, ME, when I'm not even able to raise my own children properly."

The Advisor's facial tension disappeared at his Lord's unaccustomed self-doubt, and he couldn't suppress a fond smile. "Come now, my friend. It's not that bad, you're a capable father and your children are good. Elrohir is a little bit naughty but…"

His Lord interrupted him with a snort. "Naughty! One can be naughty at 10, 20 or even 30, but Elrohir is 158 years old! He can't be called 'naughty' anymore!"

"What is he then?"

"A pain in the ass!"

Erestor, with great diplomacy, pretended a fit of coughing to prevent his laughter from escaping, and listened to the concerned tone of Elrond's voice.

"Why me, Erestor? I've fathered a spoiled little princess, a know-it-all smart-ass and a "let's-see-what-happens-if-we-catch-fire-to-the-curtains-of-the-dining-room" rascal. Galadriel is the wise and firm disciplinarian, so why would she send a difficult elf to ME?"

Elrond didn't whine. He was a Lord and Lords didn't whine. But Erestor guessed that this was the closest a Lord got to complaining without actually whining.

"You said it yourself." Strangely enough, it was when the rest of the people lost their nerve that Erestor became calmest and coldest himself. "Galadriel is wise, as you said, and she has that pretty mirror of hers… maybe she foresaw that this boy's future is here. And please, Elrond, don't forget that your children are all happy and loved. Even with all their flaws, they're good and have kind spirits. You can't have done it all wrong if they're like that."

Elrond's lips curved in a little smile at Erestor's gentle words. His weak point had always been his family. It always helped him calm down when he was reminded of the true nature of his children behind the pranks and naughtiness.

Reassured once more, he resumed the main thread. "Well, the boy - Lindir, I think his name is - will receive musical instruction here." Elrond took the letter again and reread some paragraphs. "He's supposed to be amazingly talented and he has been forbidden to be trained as a soldier. Why do you think that is?"

Erestor shrugged. "Maybe he dislikes warfare? Or his old tutors were afraid of him ruining his fingers? I don't know. Perhaps he goes berserk when holding a weapon. By the way, when is he due to come?"

Putting the letter back on the table, Elrond cleared his throat. "Well, you see… do you remember the conversation about the Lórien delegation?"

The Advisor's eyes widened and he sat upright abruptly to lean on the desk. "Please, don't tell me that he's already here…"

"Ok, I won't," sighed his Lord, "but you should think about where to place him anyway, and remember he's a noble and needs some quarters that…"

"Elrond, I can do my work, I've read the letter, too. If he hasn't been assigned a room yet, where is he?"

Elrond couldn't help a smirk at that. "Didn't you say that you didn't want me to tell you that he…?"

"Please, spare me," Erestor interrupted him.

"Alright," the Lord indulged him. "He's in the waiting room; as a noble he's got the right to be welcomed personally by me and…"

Erestor's eyes grew even wider at that. "Are you implying that he's been waiting for an hour while we discussed this!"

Erestor's sense of propriety screamed at that, but Elrond calmly raised his hand a little to indicate that he should cool down, and explained. "Erestor, I needed to have this conversation, and I want you to be present during the interview. I would like to share impressions with you afterwards."

The Advisor lowered his gaze and admitted that his Lord was right. He didn't blush because… well, he just never blushed, but he felt slightly ashamed for implying that Elrond's actions had been inadequate.

"Of course, milord. Forgive my outburst."

Elrond only chuckled at that. "Do you know that you always fall back to politeness when you're embarrassed or distressed?" he teased his Advisor. "Now, go arrange whatever you need to, and when you're ready, fetch him and come back here."

Erestor smiled a bit at the fondness in Elrond's voice. Yes, it was a joy to work for him. "Yes, my Lord."

And with that, he left the room.

--------

He came back shortly thereafter, having told the nearest servant which rooms were to be prepared, and how and when they were expected to be ready.

After him walked in the famous youth: Lindir.

He was beautiful and he knew it. It was evident as he walked elegantly behind the dark haired Advisor, conscious of his own graceful gait and the delicate, not too obvious, perfectly balanced, swaying of his slim hips. As he came near, Elrond could appreciate the silver shine of his long, straight ice-blond hair falling, unbound but carefully brushed, to the small of his back. He had a narrow waist and a slender build with frail looking bones, and his delicate limbs moved in synchronized coordination as he walked.

But what really bordered on physical perfection was his face. Thin lips, straight little nose, clear forehead and fine snowy eyebrows were all dominated by the honey-coloured eyes. Hard and intelligent. It struck Elrond as truly strange that such a warm colour could transmit such coldness in an elf so young. The corners of Lindir's fine lips were upturned in a rather smug expression. Galadriel was right; this young elf bore the word "problem" branded on his adorable forehead.

"Please, take a seat," Elrond offered as Erestor took his place standing beside his Lord.

The silver haired elf walked to the chair and sat down with feline elegance. He crossed his legs and waited for Elrond to talk again.

"Welcome to Imladris, Lindir o'Lothlórien. I'm Elrond Peredhel, Lord of this valley and this is Erestor, my Chief Advisor." The dark haired counsellor and Lindir nodded to each other in acknowledgment. "I wish your stay to be pleasant and joyful."

Lindir repressed a yawn. It was not so obvious as to be taken as an offence, but both dark haired elves in the room knew that it had been intentional and calculated.

Elrond forced himself to smile and ignored the insolence as he kept speaking. "As you well know, you've been sent here to continue your artistic studies and receive instruction as a minst…"

"As I well know," Lindir interrupted with a soft, high tenor voice and a wicked gleam in his cold eyes, "I've been sent here to not embarrass my illustrious father any further, as well as to stop bothering my Lady and her consort with my… behaviour."

So he knew. Elrond had the impression that it was that sharp intelligence he seemed to possess what made the beautiful elf so dangerous and difficult to handle.

"So you admit that your… behaviour is not the proper to your station."

"So you admit that this is the real cause of my staying here."

Damn. He had just recognized Lindir's intelligence, why wasn't he more careful then? He would have appreciated a little help from Erestor's sharp mind, but he was the Lord of Imladris and it was he who was holding this conversation. His Advisor knew and wouldn't intervene, thus risking Elrond's authority. Besides, no elfling would triumph over him in a discussion, no matter how intelligent and testy that child proved to be. Elrond was too old and too wise, and had seen too many things to be beaten by an insolent brat.

The silver haired elf had leaned back deeper in his seat, the smugness of his lips even more evident.

Elrond continued, "You will start your classes next week; meanwhile, you're free to visit any place inside the borders of the valley and get accustomed to your new home."

"And to my new comrades," Lindir leaned forward and stated with a smirk. "I'm looking forward to seeing if your subjects are as fair as Lady Galadriel's… and as tasty."

He licked his lips as if thinking about it already.

Ignoring the bait, Elrond replied, "I couldn't tell you, I haven't tried them all out."

Lindir blinked. He didn't expect the Lord to humour him.

"And regarding your first days here," Elrond went on, "you'll need someone to show you the Last Homely House, so I'll send a guide to your chambers tomorrow morning."

Lindir frowned at that. "I don't need a baby-sitter," he snapped, all the smugness gone.

"Then stop acting like an elfling," Elrond answered calmly.

"Go to hell!" the apprentice of minstrel muttered, seething, and stood up, the smug façade gone now, although he kept his gracefulness as he went to the door.

That was, however, the last straw for Elrond's patience to bear, and before the youth got to the exit, he raised his voice slightly to firmly state, "I didn't give you my leave."

Something in Elrond's ominous tone made Lindir stop before he reached for the doorknob, and he turned to face the Lord of the Valley and his Advisor.

"And how do you suppose you're going to prevent me from leaving this room?"

"Come back here and sit down," Elrond ordered. Were it necessary, he would use the Ring of Power to stop him from leaving; he wouldn't permit such an attitude toward him from any elf in his own House.

There was, as expected, a duel of wills; silence resounded in the office clearer than any sound as Erestor witnessed the exchange of looks, one daring and the other firm. The time flowed slowly while they simply gazed at each other, until finally, Lindir gave in. He could be petulant, but he was clever enough to acknowledge Elrond's power. He was no match for the Lord of Imladris. He had tested his boundaries and finally found the limits.

He walked back to the chair but didn't sit down. He just stood there glaring daggers at the Lord of the Valley, not even acknowledging Erestor's presence.

"Sit down."

Lindir didn't move. After a few seconds, he stated, "I'm not your dog."

Elrond suppressed the urge to sigh. "Lindir, I'm not your father and I won't try to tame you or change your ways."

The future minstrel narrowed his eyes slightly, unsure of the outcome of Elrond's lecture.

"But I'm the Lord of this valley, and as such, I demand some respect from you. You don't have to like me, nor do I expect blind obedience from you, but, as I said, I won't tolerate any disrespect that defies my authority. I'm the Lord here. You're not. Live with that."

Lindir let out a sort of half-snort and snapped derisively, "How do you want me to offer respect to someone egocentric enough to have a self-portrait the size of a mallorn in his working place?"

The minstrel apprentice had made a gross miscalculation and, although Erestor was impressed at the quickness of thought, capacity of observation and sheer brazenness of the silver haired beauty, he turned his look to his Lord to watch him closely in case Lindir had finally overstretched Elrond's proverbial patience.

His worries were unfounded, though, as the wise Peredhel draw his lips into a dangerous smile and answered. "I don't keep any self-portrait here, son."

After the first glint of stubborn denial in the musician's eyes, shocked understanding dawned, and without thinking, his eyes returned to the portrait. He had only had a glimpse before, but he couldn't have been so careless as to say such an insult and be wrong, could he?

But no, the portrait clearly portrayed Lord Elrond… oh, no… Elbereth, how could he have been so stupid?

"Yes, the elf in the painting had a remarkable resemblance to me. That usually happens with twins. That's my brother Elros, unfortunately no longer among us."

Although Elrond kept his voice firm and unattached, Lindir seemed to adopt a guilty air, as if knowing that he had brought to the Lord's mind a painful memory. That lasted but a fraction of a heartbeat, though, and then he returned again to his defiant attitude.

"Lindir," Elrond repeated patiently, "please, sit down."

The rebellious young elf stood a moment longer, not giving any hint as to what he was really thinking, until finally, making it look as if it were his own idea and not an order given, he elegantly took his seat again.

Glad to see that neither Elrond nor his gloomy advisor wore the slightest hint of a smile at his capitulation, the silver haired elf relaxed a little bit and waited quietly for Elrond's next words.

"Imladris is not like Lothlórien, Lindir. Here, there are no stern norms or protocols; we hold no formal court, but instead have friendly councils. You will find that your title won't give you privileges; instead, it will be your actions that will be judged. Here, people are who they are and are respected in accordance with that, not with what title they hold. Keep that in mind, please."

Lindir seemed to make an effort to act completely disinterested without resorting to yawning, fidgeting or letting his look roam astray. Against his better judgement, Erestor found himself amused by Lindir's insolence, and even surprised himself by admiring him a little by the control he held on his emotions and the sheer intelligence of one so young. In the meanwhile, Elrond continued with his speech.

"This is a small community and I don't deem it necessary to hold strict control over it. But there are still limits. Cross the line and you'll find yourself sitting in that chair again. As I said, I'm the Lord of Imladris and I will be obeyed. That's neither a dare nor a threat, it's a fact. Do I make myself clear, Lindir?"

The youth knew well that Elrond was trying to make him agree to his terms, not just to listen to them, but he didn't see a reason to deny him what he wanted. He would feel in no way bound to anything by his reply, so he answered, obviously unimpressed, "Yes, sir."

He was mildly surprised to see honest warmth in Elrond's eyes when he next spoke. "Your things have already been sent to your new rooms." – _'or so I hope'_ he thought, trusting blindly in his faithful Advisor about this – "Erestor will now see you to them. Feel free to come to me if you need something, or ask Erestor in my stead."

Lindir's beautiful lips twisted again in an ugly smirk. "Do I have your leave now, my _Lord _?"

The words were dripping sarcasm, but Elrond ignored it altogether. "Yes, you have."

With that, the future minstrel stood up gracefully and walked to the door, followed by the dark haired Advisor. Just before closing the door behind himself, Erestor cast a playful wink at his Lord, and he answered him with a heartfelt sigh.

Alright, one thing behind us. And now, the delegation…

----

Erestor didn't bother starting a conversation. He was not prone to small talk and knew that Lindir wasn't either, so they walked in silence through the Imladrian corridors.

The Chief Advisor tried to calculate mentally how long the interview had taken and if there had been enough time to clear the rooms he had assigned to the young noble. He hoped so, otherwise, he had an embarrassing situation ahead of him.

Used as he was to hiding his thoughts, his worries didn't reflect on his cool mask, as Lindir's own didn't show on his. Both were beyond feeling uncomfortable in forced silence so they strode relaxed, side by side, till Erestor finally stopped in front of a beautifully carved door.

"This will be your chambers from now on, Lord Lindir." Although it was nearly an aberration to call one so young "Lord," it was what protocol dictated, and Erestor was nothing if not proper. "As Lord Elrond announced to you, an elf will fetch you tomorrow to show you around your new home. Today at noon you will also be guided to the Halls for lunch, if you so desire."

Absentmindedly nodding, Lindir opened the door to his new rooms and Erestor let out a mental sigh of relief as he confirmed that the chambers were ready to be lived in. However, these thoughts didn't prevent him from noticing the sudden wicked grin that creased the face of the silver haired youth, and he wondered what the pale elf was plottingHe soon discovered it as the musician produced a silver coin out of nowhere and threw it arrogantly at Erestor.

"Here you are, for the bother," the melodious voice said with a slight hint of superiority as Erestor, only by sheer instinct, caught the coin in midair.

The dark haired counsellor needed just a fraction of a heartbeat to realize both the insult and the calculated intention behind it. Lindir was not an obnoxious noble being magnanimous. He was deliberately trying to outrage him; the only thing he didn't know yet was why, but the advisor was determined to find out soon.

What, from another elf would have angered him to no end and brought out the ugliest and coldest side of himself, only amused him from the silver haired minstrel. So, deliberately entering his game, he seriously replied, "Thank you, milord. I'll go and buy myself some pretty trinkets with this."

And with that, he turned around and left a dumbstruck Lindir wondering why Erestor, proud Chief Advisor to Lord Elrond of Imladris didn't miss a beat at being treated as a butler.

Reliving again the counsellor's words, Lindir had to suppress a sincere smile. He was beginning to like Imladris's strange elves.

-----

"He did WHAT!"

"I said that he gave me a tip," Erestor calmly replied.

"I can't believe you didn't kill him on the spot," Glorfindel replied with a teasing smile in his voice.

"Indeed, I didn't," and he related to his friend the exact response he had given Lindir and the bewildered expression the elfling had worn at hearing it.

Glorfindel laughed and Erestor smiled behind his glass of wine. He had always loved that sound. It was a blessing that it was so easy to bring the warrior to laughter. He was so handsome when doing so.

"I can't understand why you didn't take offence," commented the Seneschal, "I thought you couldn't stand arrogance. I remember you saying awful things about King Thranduil for that same reason."

Erestor snorted at that. "It's not the same. Lindir was trying to antagonize me. It was a carefully planned insult; there was no real superiority behind his gesture. It was nearly… endearing."

Glorfindel raised an eyebrow at that and sipped at his own glass of wine, but didn't say anything.

"Thranduil is another matter altogether," Erestor's voice grew noticeably darker when talking about the Greenwood King. "He was not intentionally offending me, he's just an arrogant ass."

"Are you comparing the High Monarch of the Wood Elves with a donkey?" a highly amused Seneschal asked.

"No, of course not," Erestor replied, deadly serious. Then, as an afterthought, he added, "Rather with a backside."

Glorfindel laughed and Erestor chuckled, and they shared a moment of pleasant complicity. As on many other nights, they spent a little time together after dinner to talk about their days, and, most importantly, to vent about their problems and tension with a glass of wine and a good dose of humour.

So long ago, when they had just started getting to know each other, it had come as a shocking surprise when one day Glorfindel had nearly choked himself to death with a fit of laughter at some obscure joke the stern Advisor had uttered under his breath. Of all the people in Arda, the one Erestor least expected to understand his twisted jokes was the apparently simple warrior. After that, it hadn't take him long to realize that Glorfindel was anything but simple, and that the reborn hero of Gondolin was one of the few elves in all Imladris who shared his sarcastic sense of humour.

They understood each other so well… again, a wave of longing invaded the dark haired Advisor, while drinking in the sight of his long time friend. The light seemed to love the golden tresses as much as Erestor did – '_well, and all the inhabitants of the valley, for that matter,_' the cynical councillor reminded himself – and cast hypnotic reflections that caught Erestor's eye. And heart. And soul. And…

'_Enough,_' he had to stop his thoughts again.

It was getting so much worse… the craving, the hunger, the obsession… how he wished to stop thinking, to stop feeling, to stop this silliness before the Seneschal noticed, before he destroyed his world and the life he knew and cherished for a stupid crush. Just like an elfling, just like a fool. Oh, Valar, how he wished…

"Erestor?"

"Huh?"

The dark haired elf shook his head as if his thoughts had been far, far away, and not on the smiling elf sitting across from him, the same elf that was looking patiently at him, as if it was common occurrence that Erestor indulged himself in daydreaming.

"Come back to me."

'_Oh, please, don't ask twice_.'

Controlling the natural urge to blush, Erestor let himself smile back at his friend. Even when he knew that the blond hadn't the slightest idea about what silly images were plaguing his mind, he always felt at ease in his presence.

"Sorry," he excused himself, sipping again from his wine. "It's been a trying day and I got distracted."

Glorfindel playfully snorted. "I can't believe you think anything worthier of your attention than ME!" and he made a big show of pointing to himself as the most important thing in Eru's creation.

Erestor rolled his eyes, smiled and threw a cushion at him that the seasoned warrior purposefully let hit him in his poised face.

'_If only you knew…_' Erestor thought as the silliness of the dignified Balrog-Slayer made him laugh again. "Idiot," he called him instead lovingly.

"Thank you," the blonde replied as if he had just been complimented. With a poignant look at his now empty glass, he asked to the other elf, "Shall we have another drink?"

Erestor shrugged in response, finished the rest of his wine and handed the glass to Glorfindel, who, taking the crystal receptacle, stood up and approached the place where Erestor kept his spirits.

"More wine or would you prefer something more exotic?" asked the warrior, eyeing Erestor's collection and asking as though the bottles, glasses and in fact the whole room were his instead of his dark haired friend's.

The Advisor's repeated shrug was lost, since the Seneschal's back was still turned toward him as he rummaged through Erestor's liquors, so he replied aloud, "Wine is fine."

Glorfindel turned to him, grinning at Erestor's choice of words. "Oooh, Erestor, you're such a poet!"

The Advisor scowled and muttered "dumb-head" at the silly blond as he realized the stupid rhyme that his words had formed, and with a resigned sigh accepted the new glass of wine that the warrior offered him. One could run out of insults when talking to Glorfindel.

"Sooo…. Who will be the fortunate elf to show our esteemed and docile minstrel our home, sweet homely home?" the blond asked, taking his seat again on the couch across from the Advisor.

Erestor let his lips turn up in a wicked smile, ignoring the idiotic phrasing of the question and getting highly amused by the answer.

"Give it a guess," he dared, sipping from his now full glass.

"Well, I suppose it won't be our shy, timid Melpomaen," Glorfindel reflected aloud, "since from what you have told me of your interview with the minstrel, Lindir could just eat him alive."

It never ceased to amaze Erestor that the warrior knew by given name, occupation and character every inhabitant of the valley, even the scribes, artisans and cooks. Truth be told, he, Chief Advisor of Imladris, knew most of them only because of his work, but the Seneschal seemed to know them (and personally) just because he wanted to. Because of that, the accurate comment about Erestor's young apprentice didn't come as a surprise.

"Of course not! We need to fight fire with fire here… so who do you think the best candidate would be?"

"Hmmm…" Glorfindel circled the rim of his glass with his finger, thinking for a short time until the light in his eyes revealed that he had come up with an answer, and grinning like mad, he guessed, "Elrohir!"

Erestor nodded and, slapping his thigh with joy, the blond began to laugh. The dark haired Advisor took another sip of his wine as he listened to his friend.

"Oh, by Elbereth! This surely will be fun! I can't wait to see them interact! I'm already dying to train them together!"

Erestor frowned at that. "Well, I'm afraid you won't have that pleasure, my friend, Lindir is not allowed to train as a warrior."

Glorfindel blinked at that. "Well, I know you said that he was a promising musician, but he's still of the age to receive weapon training, with the rest of the Imladris population. You know the law and why it was decreed. Sauron, though defeated, is not annihilated. Basic knowledge of how to defend oneself is not recommended, it's needed."

The joyful tone in Fin's voice was all gone now, Erestor realized. The dark haired Advisor could understand his friend's worry perfectly. He was old too, and had seen warfare and death. He knew what the Seneschal thought of training the youths. From his own experience, Glorfindel o'Gondolin was painfully conscious of his own inability to protect all that he cherished, and was adamant in his opinion that if he couldn't save them all himself, at least he could teach them to save themselves. They had been granted a reprieve, but the darkness would come back again.

Erestor, knowing and understanding all this, just sighed. "There are specific instructions about it in Galadriel's missive, Fin. We can't go against that…"

"We're not a district of the Golden Wood, we don't have to receive orders from the Lady Galadriel, and Lindir is of age. I'll write personally to the Lady if it's necessary."

"Just please," Erestor pleaded, with the bitter taste of knowing that he had somehow darkened the evening with this, "talk to Elrond before you do, alright?"

Glorfindel looked at him as if realizing that he had become too serious and ruined the night by dropping the clown-role that he so gladly played. With a quick sketch of a smile, he promised. "Yes, of course I will."

For a short moment, silence reigned while both friends drank their wine. Looking up again from the glass he had been staring at, Erestor asked, trying to lighten the conversation, "So, who do you think will prevail, the local champion or the foreigner candidate?"

"You mean Elrohir and Lindir?" Glorfindel asked before narrowing his eyes slightly in concentration, trying to compare what he knew of both of them. "I would say Lindir is more intelligent and bad tempered, but Elrohir CAN really grate on one's nerves… I would think that Elrond's House will win."

"Mmm…" Erestor gave it more than a thought. "I don't know… Elrohir can definitely be - and I'm quoting the words of his illustrious father - a pain in the ass, but I sense a deep power inside our minstrel. I wouldn't underestimate his brains, so I vote for Lindir."

Glorfindel, who was used to disagreeing with Erestor's opinion as much as he was used to agreeing, smirked at his dark haired companion and asked, projecting his trademark self-confidence, "Shall we bet?"

Sipping from his wine again, Erestor shook his head slowly. "You know that I dislike betting on real people."

Glorfindel's smile grew wider at that. "Mmm… always the self-righteous counsellor, are we?"

Erestor lifted an elegant eyebrow at that. "Better that than the shallowness of the flippant warriors, always eager to bet, even on their own mothers. Remember what happened, Lord of the Golden Flower, the last time we made a wager."

Glorfindel's grin changed to a childish pout at the mention of that particular event, when he lost the long tresses that gave him his name. "I've been thinking very hard about it…" the warrior began contemplatively.

"Really," came the unimpressed reply.

"…and I already know which kind of return match I'll demand."

The patient Advisor was silent while Glorfindel sipped his wine, until he concluded that his friend was purposefully waiting for his prodding. And the good boy that he was, he obliged. "…and that is?"

He didn't trust the naughty glimmer that the Seneschal's eyes had adopted.

"This time I'm not letting luck decide the result of the wager. This time it will be a match of ability, a battle of intelligence, a measure of power…"

"Whatever."

Ignoring his friend's cynicism, Glorfindel concluded, "…we will play a chess game!"

After at least ten seconds of silence, Erestor having dipped his head down slightly to give the blond warrior a very sceptical look, the dark haired advisor chose to ignore the fact that the former wager hadn't been a matter of luck at all, and preferred to reply to the most important misconception.

"Fin," he started carefully, "I don't mean to be disrespectful toward your illustrious self, or arrogant by any means, but I really think that you have a better chance with the luck thing."

"Oh, don't be so full of yourself…"

"Fin, if you beat me at a game of chess, I'll eat my own shoes."

The golden haired warrior rolled his eyes at Erestor's supreme self-confidence. True, in the past they had played on numerous occasions, but Glorfindel hadn't won a single match. In fact, they had stopped playing together because it lacked the thrill of competition. But that was a long time ago… the Seneschal had practiced with Elrond and most of his friends, and was sure of his chances if only Erestor would give him the opportunity… and a bit of advantage.

"I'll take that as an addition to the wager," Glorfindel grinned, bringing his glass to his lips again.

Without being conscious of it, Erestor's eyes followed the motion and became fixated on Glorfindel's mouth as the blond licked the excess of wine out of his lips.

'_So full, so ripe, so utterly sinful…_'

Suddenly aware of his own line of thoughts and unabashed staring, he tore his eyes from his friend's shapely mouth and fixed them instead on his own glass. His heart drummed like crazy in his chest and the blood pounded in his ears, not so much for the sensual feeling he got when ogling his golden haired friend as for the sudden fear, the terrible panic at being caught by Glorfindel in his desire for him.

He thanked the Valar again for being able to control his blushing and tried to remember what they were talking about before he became distracted. Oh, yes, the wager…

Pasting a little self-confident smile on his face, he dared to lift his eyes again and sipped his wine as if nothing had just happened.

Fortunately, Glorfindel seemed oblivious to the changes in his behaviour and kept on talking. "Of course, being so sure of your victory, you wouldn't mind if we establish some tiny, insignificant new rules…"

This time Erestor raised his other eyebrow (it was tiring to always lift the same one) and the Seneschal took that as a signal to elaborate.

"For example, having to drink a shot of Dwarvish brandy every time a piece of yours is sacrificed. You know, like a delicate metaphor to the pain that punishes you when you're leading one of your battle units to a glorious death…"

"How epic."

"Yes, I think so, too."

"Fin, you know you can drop the silliness, don't you? It's me, after all…"

"It's for that reason that I keep it, you idiot," The Seneschal answered in an affectionate tone, a warm smile gracing his features. "If there's an elf in Imladris in dire need of a buffoon, that's you."

Erestor's infallible cold mask cracked at that. Glorfindel was saying that in front of everyone else, he played the fool for himself, but alone with Erestor, he did it for the too-serious counsellor. Not for his own protection but for his friend's distraction. Glorfindel had rendered him speechless, and that was not an easy task. He didn't deserve such a good friend.

"Alright," he accepted without thinking, just because he didn't know what else to say. "I'll take the wager."

And with that, he gulped the last of his wine and left the empty glass on the near-by table.

Watching his friend's distress and marvelling at how stiff the stern Advisor became when showed the tiniest bit of affection, Glorfindel decided to throw a cushion at his face, now that the glass of wine was empty and safe.

Not paying too much attention and having already drunk too many glasses of wine, Erestor didn't see the cushion coming, and it hit him roundly in the face.

Suddenly lamenting the extinction of the Balrogs, Erestor glared darkly at his friend, wondering what made Glorfindel think that he wished to get hit by a cushion right now.

As though reading his thoughts, a very happy warrior replied, echoing Erestor's previous words, "Oh, come on, Erestor, relax a little, will you? It's me, after all…"

'_It's for that that I don't relax, idiot,_' the dark haired councillor thought, but bit his tongue to keep from replying. Instead, he rolled his eyes again and threw the cushion back to the unbearable blond.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk," the Seneschal shook his head as he caught the cushion in mid-air, "aren't you too old for pillow-fights?"

Not bothering to answer that he was not the one to start it (well, actually he was, but Fin had thrown it back at him), Erestor simply watched as the gorgeous blond gulped the last of his wine, then stood up and left the empty glass on the same table that Erestor had placed his.

"Well," he began, "I believe I'll call it a night then…"

Erestor opened his mouth to bid him a good night but Glorfindel cut him short.

"No!" he looked away then and put the back of his hand dramatically on his forehead. "You know that I can't stay, so don't insist!"

"Fin…" Erestor started patiently, as if talking to a child, although his amused smile gave him away.

"No!" the warrior exclaimed again. "You know that I…"

Then, as if trying to think of more nonsense he could utter, but not being able to come up with any, he muttered, "Well… what the hell."

And it was in that precise moment that Erestor noticed what Glorfindel's hand held and realized, just a fraction of a heartbeat too late, that his last stupidity was only a manoeuvre to distract him, and then the cushion collided soundly with his face again.

"Glorfindel!"

He threw the cushion back at the warrior, but this was, of course, expected and caught, then thrown again at the Chief Advisor, who, giggling and cursing Glorfindel's name, grabbed another cushion and gracefully ducked the one he was being attacked with.

"Remember!" the blond warrior said hastily while opening the door, "tomorrow night, my rooms, brandy-chess!"

He had barely pronounced the last words when he quickly slammed the door, and the cushion that Erestor threw at him hit the wooden frame instead of his grinning face.

Smiling like the brainless fool he knew he was, Erestor picked up the cushions from the floor, placed them where they belonged and let himself fall onto the couch sighing.

"Ah, Fin…"

---------

TBC


End file.
